Eight years of wandering the streets of Philadelphia, alone, with friends, with dates, in search of the perfect pizza, all in vain. How silly. Like true love, the perfect pizza pops up just when you least expect it, both surprising you and leaving you wondering how you could have missed it all this time, or how you’ll ever again live without it.
How did I do it?
Homemade dough: Mark Bittman’s recipe, made with bread flour.
Homemade mozzarella: made with cheese curd from Claudio’s.
Homemade tomato sauce: literally, from tomatoes grown in my garden last summer, grabbed from my freezer and cooked down with salt.
Homegrown basil: frozen in time.
This summer I will plant more tomatoes. I will tend to them with care. I will pull them out at the first sign of blight, no matter how painful, in order to protect the other plants. If I begin to neglect them, I will motivate myself by dreaming up future pizza moments: with anchovies and capers, with mozzarella di bufala, shared with my significant other and a glass of wine in our open kitchen. A gal can dream, right? What good is the perfect pizza when not shared with loved ones?